


Eulogy

by turbomun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Post-Undertale Neutral Route, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - Neutral Pacifist Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turbomun/pseuds/turbomun
Summary: At the memorial service for King Asgore Dreemurr, the newly reappointed Queen is expected to speak.





	Eulogy

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read the tags, this takes place post-Neutral Pacifist route, between the ending and the phone call that you receive from Sans. It's pretty straightforward, I think.

Toriel wears her formal robe to the memorial service, and when she spots her reflection in the mirror, with a crown perched between her horns and a fine gold chain looped about her neck, it occurs to her with bitter nostalgia that this is the same attire that she wore to her own wedding.

The service is held in the throne room, an appropriate enough location, since it’s full of the flowers that he cultivated so tenderly. Eyes skitter across her as she makes her way towards the vine-smothered throne; everyone is still wary about her returning to lead them, but regality is in her blood, and she adopts a posture that commands respect without her even needing to think about it. Despite the fact that he was the one who stayed, she was the one originally born into royalty, the one raised from birth to become the Queen. She wonders how many monsters even remember that now, since she and he ruled together for so many centuries that the idea of one being “more royal” than the other became faintly ridiculous.

Up until she walked away, of course.

Everyone knew the King personally, it seemed, but only his closest associates have crammed themselves into the room. The Royal Guard is here, in their full armor, standing in formation. Undyne heads the group, her face drained of all emotion, all of her anger and suspicion and grief, until only exhaustion remains. Sans, the only one here who Toriel can honestly call a friend, is at the back wearing a black coat that she doesn’t recognize. Off to the side, Dr. Alphys fidgets in a long-sleeved black dress, the sort of outfit that would have been called a mourning gown in Toriel’s younger days. The Queen is still a fundamentally old-fashioned monster, and the TV cameras positioned at the corners of the throne room make her nervous, although she knows that it’s only fair to give the rest of the kingdom a chance to mourn their leader’s passing.

The ceremonial urn, containing as much of King Asgore Dreemurr’s dust as they were able to scrape up, has been placed on the throne. One last, silent address to his people; this time, however, Toriel will have to speak for him. 

She stands beside the throne and clutches her microphone. 

“I do not think that there has ever been a more beloved leader of monsterkind than Asgore,” she begins. 

Toriel normally prepares her speeches ahead of time, but whenever she sat down and attempted to compose this eulogy, the words jammed painfully in her mind. Thoughts would crowd in on her, but none were of the sort that she could actually speak aloud in a public address. After all, this memorial service has everything to do with her people, and nothing at all to do with her.

But he was the most revered leader of the kingdom. Yes. She had been well-liked, before…well, _before_. Then she left, and while many are relieved that she has returned now, they are also suspicious. She cannot blame them for that. And even if she rules for another thousand years, she doubts that she will ever inspire the universal friendship that Asgore did. 

“He was not blameless,” she continues. “He had his fair share of transgressions. But all he ever wanted was to prevent the Underground from losing hope.”

When she first came back, the same monsters who are gathered here now told her about what she had missed while she was sequestered in the Ruins. About Asgore’s regret, about how each taken human soul preyed dreadfully on his mind. About how he would never discuss such things openly, not showing anger or grief any longer, but would simply smile his troubles off and ask whoever had inquired about his health if they’d care for a cup of tea. About how he realized his mistake too late.

At first, none of it mattered to her. Her anger towards him crackled like flames, burning hotter than it had since the day she’d abandoned him. What did she care if he’d regretted his actions later? He was still a nothing but a cowardly murderer, sitting in his ivory tower and praying that he would never have to take action, yet still murdering the six human children who approached him. 

It was far easier to hate him than it was to miss him. 

Only when she realized this did Toriel finally begin to understand his actions…and hers. 

“It is easy to view a person, particularly a leader, as being wholly good or wholly bad. But to do so is always a great disservice to them.” 

When they lost their children, grief opened up in a yawning chasm, ready to consume them both whole. Anyone would grow desperate to avoid that gaping black maw, and Asgore was no exception. His solution was to override sadness with hatred towards the humans, and thus he hastily made his infamous proclamation, without consulting her, without thinking about it. 

And her? She couldn’t hate the humans, not with memories of her lost children still sharp in her heart. But the proclamation gave her someone else to focus her ire on: her husband. Her loyal partner through the centuries, who agreed to become the king not for power, but because he knew that she did not want the burden of an entire kingdom placed solely on her shoulders. Who made her tea every morning and washed the dishes after she finished cooking and always laughed at her terrible jokes. Who she had long since vowed to stand beside in both good times _and_ bad. But she broke that vow, burned up a lifetime together, in one moment of bright, hot hatred. Because it was easier to hate somebody than it was to miss her lost little ones.

“Asgore’s flaws and his triumphs are both a part of him that we will carry with us forever. His body and his soul are gone now. But his heart – a fundamentally kind heart, I hope we can all agree – lives on in our memories, and in his lasting effects on the Underground.”

Standing resolute, Toriel cannot bring herself to tell the truth in plain English: that she, too, is flawed. Her anger consumed her to a greater extent than it ever consumed him, far greater. If she had simply waited until their roiling emotions had cooled somewhat, then spoken to him, they could have worked out another solution, a way to retract his proclamation without destroying everyone’s hopes…and a way to cope with their anguish together. It would not have been impossible. They had worked through much more difficult problems in their tenure as rulers. It was not impossible. 

Instead, she left her husband, left her people, sequestered herself away with only her hatred for company. She took the easy way out, and it was wrong of her.

But she could never say that in front of the entire Underground, both because of pride, and because now they are all relying on her again. 

“I will change his policy on humans,” she states. “But never his policy on hope. I will honor the sacrifice that he made for us and bring us to the surface again.” 

Toriel searches her mind for anything else to say, but her words have run dry. She sets the microphone aside. Smattered, somber applause echoes throughout the throne room. 

And then, with nothing less than absolute regality and dignity, she reaches down and hefts the urn into her hands, holding the last remnants of the man who died without receiving her forgiveness or even seeing her again. She thinks of the other memorial services that she has been to throughout her long life. This one is no easier than the funeral of her parents after their deaths in the early days of the war, or the loss of her son at the hands of humans who didn’t understand him, or the burial of her other child in a place where the sun’s rays could at least reach them every now and then. But by now, she has learned the trick of how not to feel, or at least how to appear not to feel.

Like Asgore, she realized her mistake too late, far too late. There is nothing to be done about it now. 

So she takes a page out of his book, and smiles through.


End file.
